


kissing a god

by theseus_shipper



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rarepair, Smut, did i say ship?, i meant tiny dinghy at the bottom of the ocean, this is for the five of you that support this ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseus_shipper/pseuds/theseus_shipper
Summary: Kissing Madara feels like kissing a god, a dark and primal force of nature demanding to be worshipped.
Relationships: Uchiha Madara/Uchiha Obito
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98





	kissing a god

Blood looks good on him.

When Obito first saw him, grey hair, sunken face, holding a scythe, he thought Madara was Death. Seeing him now, illuminated only by the moon, red armor splattered with redder blood, oozing carnage, Obito thinks, maybe that long-dead boy wasn’t so wrong after all.

Madara just got back from battle and the bloodlust gleaming in his eyes tells Obito he’s not done fighting. 

“I resolved our little problem.” Madara says, growls, with a cadence that Obito could never quite mimic.  
He spent so long imitating that voice, but he can still hear the difference, even if no one else can.

“Excellent,” he says, with a cheeriness they both know is a facade.

He thought they’d have more to say to each other after so many years, but Madara’s been dead and Obito’s been Madara and this isn’t a friendly reunion, this is a war.

“Did you miss me?” It’s been over a decade but he still remembers the smug mockery as a constant undertone of Madara’s voice.

Yes, he thinks. “Fuck you,” he says, perfectly calm, and Madara chuckles, draws closer. The stench of blood follows.

Obito tenses up. As much as they both hate it, they still need each other, so Madara is unlikely to attack, but there’s no such thing as too careful with someone this unstable. He braces for a blow that never comes.

What Madara does instead is cup his face and drag a gloved thumb along the scarred right side, leaving a faint red streak.  
“Look at you now, all grown up.”  
Obito’s eyes widen, at a loss for how to react, but then he shivers, allows the touch, leans into it. He’s been alone for too long.

“Looks like our plan is coming along,” he says apropos of nothing . It doesn’t mean anything. Empty words to distract himself from the way Madara is looking at him. Madara has never looked at him like that. 

He’s backed into a wall before he knows what’s happening. Madara’s mouth is grazing his neck like a predator about to sink his fangs into a yielding throat. Obito lets out a shaky breath.  
His his wrists are pinned above his head, a heavy body pressing into him, a knee between his thighs, and any thoughts of using kamui to slip away are dissolved when Madara’s lips crash into his. Kissing Madara feels like kissing a god, a dark and primal force of nature demanding to be worshipped. For reasons unbeknownst even to himself, he wants it, wants to submit, to give all of himself over. He’s been doing it for so long it feels natural. He’s been doing it for so long he barely knows who he is anymore.

Obito bites Madara’s lip, drawing coppery-sweet blood. Madara smiles, kisses him harder. They’re devouring each other. It feels like a fight. And Obito is losing.

Madara let’s go to take his gloves off, with his teeth, deliberately slowly and never breaking eye contact. Faint amusement sparkles in his sharingan when Obito fails to suppress a nervous swallow.

Obito fumbles with the straps of Madara’s armor before it lands on the ground with a clatter, along with a black coat bearing red clouds, all the while Madara’s hands are roaming his body searching for a weakness.   
If every touch felt like this, he’d never make himself intangible again.

Obito sinks to his knees, almost chokes on the cock that’s unceremoniously shoved down his throat. He tries to relax, open his throat to take more of it, sloppily sucking and flattening his tongue to the underside. Madara pulls out, grabs and handful of Obito’s hair, then slowly pushes into him again, inch by inch. Hot tears pool in the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks when he squeezes them shut.  
He sees her smiling face. He sees her dying.

Madara cups his face and wipes his tears away with a gentleness he thought the man incapable of. “Good boy,” he murmurs.

He pulls out, drops to his knees and captures Obito’s lips again. Obito whimpers into the kiss. He’s glad he’s on his knees already because they would’ve buckled any moment now and Madara’s lips on his jaw, a hand pulling his hair and another stroking his erection aren’t helping. He feels dizzy. He’s stripped of his shirt and Madara pushes him down, where the icy chill of the floor seeps into him. Obito shivers. Because of the cold, he tells himself. Because Madara just took off his own shirt and is looking at him like he’s about to be wrecked.

Obito runs his hands over hard muscle burning with heat, feeling the scars of battles fought long before his time. Madara leans down, kisses him deeply, sucking on his lower lip and humming contentedly as Obito’s hands travel from his abdomen to his chest.  
Madara’s hair tickles as it brushes against his skin.   
His heart feels like it’s about to burst and Madara is feverishly hot and this is the first thing he’s been able to feel for years.

He gasps when a finger pushes into him, bites back a moan as a second and third finger curl inside of him.  
Madara smiles at how little it takes to reduce Obito to a writhing mess beneath him.

A soundless scream gets stuck in Obito’s throat as Madara slides into him, moving with steady thrusts. Physical pain is something Obito hasn’t felt in a long time. He clenches up around him. Right now, he doesn’t want to feel anything but Madara slowly driving him closer to the edge, stroking him, filling him up until he can’t tell pain from pleasure.  
He wants to die. He wants to dream. He’ll be with her either way.

Madara’s just using him, but he doesn’t mind. They share a goal, not a bond, and they never pretended otherwise. Madara’s tongue in his mouth and cock inside of him doesn’t change that, but oh does it make him feel real.

As Madara repeatedly hits his prostate, there’s a voice in Obito’s head that‘s telling him to stop, to run, telling him that this broken world is worth saving, telling him that desperately clinging to Madara’s shoulders and moaning his name is somehow wrong, but it’s drowned out by overwhelming heat and light surging through him and leaving him drained, by the sweet, sweet madness burning in Madara’s eyes and echoing in his laugh.

Madara grows more aggressive as he too nears his climax, biting and clawing like the beast Obito knows him to be. He’ll carry theses marks for weeks, proof that this wasn’t a fucked up fever dream and the thought is strangely comforting.

A couple more thrusts and a bruising kiss later, Madara releases inside of him, sinking teeth into his shoulder.

He gets off him, putting on clothes and armour already. He looks down at Obito who feels like he’s about to pass out, cold and bereft of chakra. Madara picks up Obito’s coat, drapes it over his body leaving him to remember the nights when he’d wake up screaming, covered by a blanket that wasn’t there when he fell asleep.


End file.
